


Bonds.

by Puimoo



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:33:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puimoo/pseuds/Puimoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natori has found himself bonding unexpectedly with the most strangest of people since meeting Natsume.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Natsume

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zythum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zythum/gifts).



“He'll be fine.” Shuuichi spoke the words calmly, his palm lingering against Natsume's forehead before drawing reluctantly away. “The fever has broken, we must have gotten the last of the poison out of his system, after all.” Exhausted, he collapsed down into his chair, his gaze never flickering from Natsume's pale, prone form. Shuuichi's muscles, tight and abused, threatened to rebel against the indifferent rigidness of the wooden chair, but his mind was too condensed with cotton-wool to properly interpret the signals as pain.

It had been three days since Shuuichi had slept. The spells that he had woven into Natsume's blood to entice the poison out had to be slowly, carefully seduced into completing their part of the intervention. Like to a small child, he had whispered platitudes in a verse that only a dozen people in this world understood, making promises and breaking them once each tiny goal had been conjured into existence.

And Natsume was going to be fine. Somehow that was the most important thing in the world, and Shuuichi didn't care quite now to examine why.

Madara said nothing, his head never moving from where it rested just above Natsume's heart. It hardly mattered, the words had never been intended for the youkai.

The spells retreated from Natsume's body in rivets of red (shot through with a vile blue that made Shuuichi wince, the poison so potent even when diluted by the air), before evaporating away.

Natsume was surely far too exhausted to wake for hours – for days. The fever had first sent the young boy into a cascade of seizures and pulsating spasms that had Shuuichi calling in favors that had cost nothing more important than a shard of his soul, a handful of years skimmed off the end of his life. Shuuichi couldn't believe that Natsume might still possess enough energy to even dream, let alone consider the world a place worth returning to.

Surely, surely ...

“Go back to sleep,” Natori murmured quietly, leaning in and gently brushing his knuckles lightly across Natsume's bruised eyelids when Natsume started to toss his head from side to side, struggling somehow into consciousness. A soft, pained mew slipped through Natsume's lips, and for a moment his eyes slid open. Confused and cloudy, so achingly lost, Shuuichi felt something inside him threaten to break. And then, seemingly against all odds, a slither of recognition faded into Natsume's gaze.

“Natori?” Natsume croaked, his voice breaking in … it was almost a plea.

“Sleep,” Shuuichi repeated, a tiny smile ghosting across his lips. “I won't go anywhere, I promise. Neither of us will.” Madara's eyes slid over to him at that, and Shuuichi noticed that – for the first time since this hellish trap had been sprung – Natsume's grip on the youkai had finally unclenched, the knots in his fingers uncramping enough that he no longer held Madara trapped in his desperate grip.

Not that Madara was going anywhere.

Well. Neither was Shuuichi.

And neither was Natsume. Pale eyes drifted back closed, a quiet exhale the only indication that Natsume had slipped into his first natural sleep in days.

Shuuichi settled back in his chair.


	2. Nishimura

Shuuichi's shoot had run late into the afternoon, the last flutters of sunlight giving way to a rainy, gray twilight. There had been offers to stay on longer at the fancy hotel where the film was being shot, perfumed promises of an entertaining and laden night spent amongst 'friends'.

Shuuichi could have stayed and played his role with the same perfect adequacy that he bought to all his social interactions. He had a particular smile for evenings spent reminiscing over work with co-workers, one that spoke of the exact shade of superficial warmth that made others comfortable without asking too much in return. It was easy enough to lose his tiredness beneath that particular smile, to tuck away the lingering hurt from an exorcism that had gone wrong.

After all, it was a smile he sometimes called upon for days on end.

Maybe it was because his aches were pulling a little too taut and his exhaustion had risen to his eyes, but he had made his excuses early this evening. There were more important things on his mind, namely the vague rumors of a youkai that had starting making threatening overtures in the forest near the local shrine. Shuuichi knew that Natsume would involve himself with the youkai as soon as he became aware of it, especially as the name of one of Natsume's friends was being whispered on the souring winds.

It was easy enough to get his driver to change direction away from his fancy hotel and back towards Natsume's home, his excuse already crafted in his head. Natsume would surely protest the unexpected visit (Natsume protested most things, it was one of his most amusingly frustrating characteristics), however he would surely want to assist once he found out that the Tanuma boy may be at risk. It was unsubtly manipulative, and Shuuichi felt the childishness of his act with a touch of shame.

Yes, for all Natsume's protestations, Shuuichi knew that not only would Natsume never pass up a chance to help his school friend, but that he also enjoyed Shuuichi's company almost as much as Shuuichi enjoyed his. Although, a movie star showing up on his doorstep was surely going to turn him into a bit of a mess in front of the Fujiwaras. He wondered how Natsume was going to explain _that._

The thought made Shuuichi grin.

The rain started to come down harder, bleeding away all color from the world outside his taxi window that didn't already exist as a shade of gray. Even the traffic seemed to have given up, there were few cars brave enough to take on the slowly growing storm. It was why, when the taxi came to a brief stop at a traffic light, he was surprised to see one lone boy trudging along the pavement, his head bowed by the weight of the wind and his hands stuffed defensively in his pockets.

For a moment Shuuichi thought it might be Natsume, and he waved for the driver to slow down. Up close, the school student lacked the quiet aura that was so markedly Natsume's. This child was more a candle that had been smothered inside a lantern, his natural light casually ( _cruelly_ ) muted into something less bright. Natsume was instead often nothing more than the last inch of wax, stripped bare.

No, not Natsume. Still, Shuuichi was sure he recognized him from somewhere.

“You're one of Natsume's friends, aren't you?” Shuuichi asked as he rolled the window down, spats of rain catching on his jacket and in his hair. The boy was startled by Shuuichi's sudden intrusion into his thoughts, his head darting up and his drenched hair fanning away from his eyes.

“Natori-san?” Nishimura (Shuuichi remembered which of Natsume's friends he was now, the innocent and excitable expression giving it away) practically gasped, eyes wide and momentarily brimming with awe. And then, the enthusiasm drained strangely away, and Nishimura was left looking washed out and emotionless. “It's nice to see you. It's been a while.” Nishimura's lack of interest rang hollow. Shuuichi barely knew the boy, but they had met briefly on a couple of occasions. This … was not normal. The boy was energy personified.

“Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

“My mum's coming to pick me up,” Nishimura said defensively, his shoulders huffing up around his neck. Shuuichi did not think Nishimura could look any more miserable. “She's just running a little late.”

Running a little late. It was an excuse Shuuichi had heard a hundred times during his childhood, when everyone and everything was prioritized over him – often deliberately so. He wondered if he'd ever looked quite so despondent. Shuuichi doubted it. Even as a child, he'd been a particularly talented actor.

Even as a child, there had been a part of him that had simply stopped caring.

“Why don't you just throw her a text and say you'll meet her at home?” Shuuichi's easy suggestion caused Nishimura to peek out at him from beneath his bangs. “That way she can avoid getting caught in this weather. I think it's only going to get worse.” The casual manipulation was enough, and the thought of the weather actually getting worse had Nishimura scooting in beside him the moment the door was popped open. His wet uniform squelched against the leather upholstery, leaving behind skids of water.

“Sorry,” Nishimura said, his cheeks reddening. “I'm … uh, getting your seat wet.”

Shuuichi smiled warmly. “It can't be any worse than being on set today. We were filming a scene that is supposed to be set in the middle of a hurricane. I must have had half a dozen showers during the day, but I don't think I was ever very warm for long.”

It was like a switch had been flipped, and all the light returned to Nishimura's face. His honey-brown eyes shone, and his mouth whipped into an amazed smile. It was simple enough then to regal Nishimura with tales from work, allowing Nishimura's excited cues to direct which stars he talked about and what gossip he spilled. It kept Nishimura on the edge of his seat, and it was only when they drew up in front of the kid's house that some of the tension returned. Nishimura still thanked him warmly for the lift, but there was a weight to his shoulders that had nothing to do with returning into the rain.

Shuuichi waited for Nishimura to enter the house, noting how the boy hesitated for just a moment before opening the door and ducking inside.

It was a complicated world, this.


	3. Matoba

The youkai screamed, a terrible, pinching screech that cursed Shuuichi with each dying syllable. It plummeted down from the sky, the barbed curses that pierced through its wings and tore into its skin stripping away the youkai's last few moments of life in the most painful way possible.

It was dead before it hit the ground. It was more mercy than it had shown any of its (young, human) victims.

There was blood everywhere. It dripped from Shuuichi's hair, falling into his eyes and pulsating down his cheeks. His clothes, his clothes were surely soaked through, and with each breath he could _taste_ it. Copper and strong, tainted with that undeniably magic aftertaste that burned.

This … this should matter. He should _care._

Shouldn't he?

“I knew you would see this … aberration … my way,” Matoba said, an artificial lightness to his voice that sank through Natori like lead.

Shuuichi brushed past Matoba without saying a word.


	4. Kappa

This … this was beyond words.

There had been many occasions where Shuuichi had strayed away from his innately disaffected way of dealing with youkai since Natsume had come into his life. There had been youkai he has simply put out of commission instead of exorcising from existence, half a dozen photo-shoots and movie meet-and-greets that he'd passed over in exchange for a simple lunch date in some small, unassuming cafe.

But this …

“He's badly injured,” Natsume had said quietly. “But, I can't take him home with me. The Fujiwaras-” Natsume had cut off then, dropping his head slightly at the thought of somehow having to choose between doing something that may put his beloved guardians at risk and leaving an injured youkai exposed to the very elements that had been manipulated into so grievously harming him.

Ridiculous. _Ridiculous._ Shuuichi should have said no, but there was no curse strong enough to repel the strange mixture of rebellion and fragility that Natsume always managed to project in those moments where his will battled against all the hurt that he so nicely tucked away.

And that was how he had come to have a badly injured kappa sleeping in his bathtub, its loud chirping vibrating through its gills in between each room shaking snore. Shuuichi's walls were soundproof (as both an actor and a exorcist, privacy was his most prized possession), but even if Shuuichi had been able to lock himself away in his bedroom and try and sleep though this mess, that option was not one he dared take. The potential punishment was Natsume's wrath.

The kappa had to not only be nursed, but guarded. Against all odds and common sense, the kappa had become embroiled in what could only be described as the most inane land fight in the existence of land fights.

A puddle. In the middle of an ordinary footpath. That would be gone in a couple of days once the spring storms had passed on.

If the puddle had held some archaic or mythical significance, then Shuuichi might have understood the drive to protect the small spot. He had seen youkai fight bloody battles over individual grains of sand, a puddle could have greater significance than the sun rising each morning to a kappa.

This puddle occupied a nice place under a slightly droopy oak tree. As far as Shuuichi had been able to uncover, that was it. No grand history, no infused particles that would grant some lucky kappa their greatest wishes.

Apparently, as the finder of the puddle and therefore its appointed guardian, ownership of the puddle could only pass on to another kappa upon the death of the one currently using Shuuichi's loofah as a pillow. Three attempts had already been made before Natsume had found him, half drowned in his own puddle of choice.

It was the first time Shuuichi had ever heard of a kappa being almost drowning to death. He'd honestly never considered it physically possible.

Really. His apartment was surely safe enough without Shuuichi having to spend all night sitting on his bathroom vanity (he'd long since given up on the cold marble that his toilet seat offered). Natsume didn't even have to know.

Besides. The world would hardly be at a loss if one more youkai was relegated back to the history books.

Googly, blood-shot eyes shot open, and a webbed hand grabbed aimlessly at the bath edge as it sought out Shuuichi before sagging back into the water with relief.

 _Desperate and scared, really only a child in youkai years._

Damn it.


	5. Tanuma

“So.”

“So.”

They had talked about the weather (slowly getting warmer, but no less wet than it had been for months). They had briefly touched on Shuuichi's latest film (“So … I heard your new film has started shooting.” “Yeah, it's going well.”). Even school had provided a moment of conversation, although that had ended quickly when a dark storm had flashed unexpectedly across Tanuma's features. Apparently, school was not going particularly well, although Shuuichi should have realised that was the case and avoided that particular topic altogether. Too late he had remembered Natsume's concern about his friend's recent bout of illness. It made sense that Tanuma's school work was starting to suffer.

Tanuma was a nice boy, and Shuuichi could see why Natsume liked him so much. He had a similar gentleness and warmth to Natsume, a softness in his eyes. It was just that he was also incredibly, irritatedly awkward.

“Natsume shouldn't be too long,” Shuuichi said to break the silence, years of practice schooling his voice so that none of his vague annoyance seeped into it. What in the world was he supposed to talk about with this kid? How to set him at ease? It wasn't that Tanuma was in awe of Shuuichi's fame, nor was he being overly respectful because Shuuichi was his elder. No. It could have been someone Tanuma's own age sitting across from him and Tanuma would still be acting that little bit more unsettled than the situation truly called for.

It was rare for them to spend any time together, and even then only ever through the duel grip Natsume had on them both. Natsume had asked for their assistance in some mysterious youkai disappearance, and the information Natsume had provided had been enough to pique Shuuichi's own investigation into the matter - invitation or no.

The three of them were supposed to be half way to the youkai's shrine by now, however Natsume's concept of 11am apparently differed from Shuuichi's by at least an hour.

Tanuma shot him a small, awkward smile, before awkwardly wrapping his fingers around his coffee mug.

“He has a habit of being late for any weekend meet up, he sort of overdoes the household chores.” This time, Tanuma's smile was somewhat less strained and more like that of a teenage boy.

Shuuichi let out an exasperated laugh. “If he's on laundry duties, we may never see him. I've never seen anyone get sheets so _white._ ”

“It could be worse,” Tanuma said, seriousness flickering in his gaze even though a quiet humor remained. One of his youkai friends might try and help.”

Shuuichi's eyes widened at the thought.

I could hear your laughter from across the cafe,” Natsume said suspiciously when he arrive half an hour later, his blame-heavy gaze falling squarely on Shuuichi. Shuuichi's (perfectly reasonable) answering smile only caused Natsume's eyes to narrow further.

Lunch turned out to be a rather nice affair.


	6. Kitamoto

The front of the school was crowded with young girls giggling behind their hands, their eyes straying constantly over to where Shuuichi was standing by the gate. Shuuichi slipped them an occasional smile, their red-hot blushes keeping him amused as he waited for Natsume's class to exit the grounds. All the students who were heading out the gate stopped briefly once they realised who was standing there before rushing on, cellphones out in a flash and the odd 'inconspicuous' photo taken.

Well. Almost all the students.

“Natsume is on a field trip today, I assume that is who you are waiting for?” The boy who stopped in front of Shuuichi was tall and lean, with a short shock of dark hair. His lack of reverence was unusual, although it caused the schoolgirls to scowl in anger. If anything, their reactions only made the boy look even more unimpressed. It was not the type of reaction Shuuichi was used to, and it left him momentarily flatfooted.

“Thank you,” Shuuichi replied politely, and waited. There was clearly more the boy wanted to say.

He didn't have to wait long.

“I don't think we've ever been properly introduced,” the boy continued with quiet confidence, a casual intent in his words. “My name is Kitamoto, and I'm a friend of Natsume's.” Ah, yes. The quieter one of Natsume's friends. No wonder Shuuichi had failed to recognize him, he looked odd without his louder, more enthusiastic friend at his side.

“It's nice to meet you officially,” Shuuichi pulled out one of his especially winning smiles, but it only served to harden Kitamoto gaze. Had Kitamoto always looked at him like this, on the handful of occasions they had both been in Natsume's presence at the same time?

How interesting.

“Natori Shuuichi, it's always nice to meet another of Natsume's friends.”

“I know who you are,” Kitamoto said, taking a small breath as he appeared to be steeling himself for something. “What I don't know is what you want with Natsume.”

Shuuichi blinked, taken aback. He leaned in against the school gate, taking a moment to reply.

“I'm not sure I understand what you mean.”

“I know Natsume likes you, and for some reason Nishimura has become one of your biggest fans of late even though he used to think you unfairly broke the hearts of all the girls who fell in love with you.” A smile briefly flickered at the corner of Kitamoto's mouth before it was smothered quickly away. “But I also know that it isn't normal for a movie star to take such a sudden interest in a schoolboy. How did you two even meet?”

The boy was clever. Perhaps not in a traditional way; there was nothing about him that spoke immediately of book smarts, although Shuuichi doubted that there was any way to tell such things in the first place. But there was an awareness about Kitamoto, a hint of natural cynicism that Shuuichi rarely saw outside of the most natural of exorcists. He wondered briefly if there was anything more ... usable ... behind Kitamoto's keen insight, but that was a route best left unexplored.

Life was easier that way. Less complicated. Sometimes, it was best if the shadows remained exactly that.

Kitamoto's concern was sweet, and Shuuichi thought it unfortunate that Natsume wasn't here to see one of his friends challenge someone else on his behalf. There were small, telltale signs that Kitamoto was nervous about the confrontation. His fists had never quite unclenched, and his eyes were almost too unflinching.

In all honesty, Shuuichi was a little jealous.

“We met at one of my film shoots, he just sort of stumbled into shot. As for why we've bonded … he reminds me of myself, when I was his age.” It was a simple, uncomplicated answer. Shuuichi could have lied, but why run the risk of Kitamoto experiencing even a moment of doubt? Kitamoto was something precious and rare to Natsume, and that was something that Shuuichi didn't dare jeopardize.

Besides. Half truths were a potent enough weapon on their own.

 _He reminds me that there is someone else I can still be._

Dark eyes studied him for a moment, contemplative. The look was oddly amusing on one so young.

“Ok.”

Could it really be as easy as that? Shuuichi couldn't read Kitamoto quite as easily as he should, not with his rare hints of depth that occasionally spilled over to the surface. Kitamoto gave a small little nod, although Shuuichi wasn't entirely sure which of them was for. “Just one condition.”

Shuuichi tensed, although his smile was faultless.

“Oh?”

“Could you please release Nishimura from whatever spell you've placed him under? Don't take offense, but your films really don't stand up after four consecutive viewings.”


	7. Natsume

Shuuichi fought his way up through a fog of barbed cotton wool, the sharp edges bringing new tears of pain the further through the cloudy material he forged. Scratches of otherness managed to penetrate through; snatches of conversation every now and then, the occasional bright flicker of light.

Everything hurt. It was the most coherent thought he could piece together, and the moment it settled he wished he could cast it off again. Everything hurt _badly._

“Go back to sleep,” Natsume murmured, one hand brushing gently through his hair and his gaze spilling over with ...

Tiredness.

Concern.

Affection.

Fear.

Annoyance.

Hurt.

It … it was too much.

Shuuichi mumbled a reply, garbled and incoherent. Sought out the offered warmth, banished away the last of the fog, the pain.

And slept.


End file.
